


Hobbies

by aperture_living



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: Death, Gen, Gore, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:03:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aperture_living/pseuds/aperture_living
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mask making was more about the producer’s nature than the creature that the mask came from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hobbies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fal (Laboratory)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laboratory/gifts).



> Loosely based on Fal's comic, "Joker". The link to it is here: http://cacoethic.tumblr.com/post/48003869161/this-comic-contains-spoilers-for-the-ending-of

The Batter stood in the doorway to the room, staring into a bright surgical light that hung over the two metal slabs that seemed to be nothing more than makeshift tables. Reflections caught the corner of his eye, and he spied a neat aisle of small metal tools on a small rolling stand, like soldiers ready for their assignment, their orders to maim, destroy, tear the world asunder. Clamps, forceps, scalpels, all were there, all meticulously arranged in size, style, need. The air whispered of poignant chemicals, nauseating and curious, wondrous in their foreign nature. 

Was this how the merchant always worked? Or was this different because he was here? Was this special because the bodies on the table were--

“Oh, early, dear friend? I should expect nothing less, I suppose.” Zacharie stood behind him, his hands full of ancillary supplies: a box of elbow length latex gloves and some heavy plastic aprons. He waited expectantly for the purifier to stop his secondary job of being a roadblock. “I hadn’t expected you for a half hour still.” _Or at all_ , really his voice said, _but who’s counting_.

The Batter moved out of the way, a few steps to the right and further into the room, his eyes on the tables still, on the bodies whose modesty was held together by a sheet that was draped over them. The flesh had been washed, cleaned, scrubbed free of the blood as though it had never truly existed, couldn’t with such pristine skin shining in the inescapable, unflattering light. Oh, but the wounds told another story: near-blackened contusions, cuts and splits,violent yawns and shattered bones, figures that were almost unrecognizable from certain angles. His work had been thorough, precise, perfect. 

He was proud.

Zacharie placed his final pieces of gear on a long cabinet behind them, and The Batter’s eyes drifted above the merchant and to the rows of shelves that lined the walls. Masks stood on wooden pedestals, dozens draped in haunting shadows that gave the illusion of ghosts where the eyes once sat. Would these ones sit up there, too or would the Batter take them home, keep them for himself? He still hadn’t decided. He wondered if he would know before the day was out. 

After all, this was a learning process, an experiment, something new. With nothing left to purify, there seemed to be little else to bide the time and pass the days until a new corruption had to be contained. 

And a king had to have his crown.

“You did well not hitting their faces,” Zacharie complimented as he snapped on his gloves, offering the Batter a blue pair of his own. “I would have thought that you had planned for all of this if I didn’t know that foresight wasn’t your forte, friend.”

The Batter snorted, half-growled, but worked the gloves on, stretching his fingers awkwardly in their suctioning confines. “Watch it.”

“Calm, calm, it was only in jest.” From back behind the face of a cat, the merchant canted his head and clicked his tongue against his teeth, a curious gesture. “This is your final chance, purifier. Are you certain you wish to do th--”

“Yes.”

“Of course.” Because it had been a foolish question that shouldn’t have been asked, but formality bid it. Not that the Batter gave a shit about the formalities, not this, not when he felt the scalpel being pressed to his palm, an offering, a gift, a weapon, a tool, so much smaller than a bat. “Then, shall we begin?”

The Batter pressed the tip against the forehead of the woman’s bloodless face, a face he had once known, had once kissed, had once left and returned to with malevolence. The Queen’s flesh started to split, pull apart, pink and soft as it separated and yawned. It didn’t take nearly as much pressure as he thought it would; hands built in brutality rarely knew how to do anything less.

Zacharie slid behind him, his gloved large hand resting on the purifier's, guiding it with a practiced ease. The white of bone started to show itself, a game of hide and seek buried under muscle, flesh. “I know how much you like to rush,” he breathed into his ear, “but this is art, dear Batter, and art takes time.” 

“I can do this,” he snapped. “I can’t imagine it’s that hard.”

The merchant laughed, tightening his hold on the Batter’s grip, using the purifier as the purifier used the blade, a beautiful linked chain of command and control. “Not if you want to be able to wear it when you’re finished. Now, let me guide you, your highness.”

Another sneer, another growl, but he let Zacharie lead him, watched as the skin melted apart beneath their combined touch, both strength and skill in one motion. After they had rounded her temple, the merchant’s fingers loosened, just rested and relaxed and rode on the purifier’s movements, a silent passenger along for the ride. Experienced fingers aided around the jaw, the chin, tricky to get under and along the bone there, but he lightened his weight and let the Batter finish up on the other side.

“You are a natural, dear friend,” the merchant almost purred into the Batter’s ear, an easy lie spilling forth. He wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t as patient as Zacharie was, would carelessly and enthusiastically saw through the skin if it stuck rather than gently wade and stroke it with the scalpel. It would make the edges uneven, ever so frayed, but it fit the Batter’s personality so Zacharie didn’t remark about it. Mask making was more about the producer’s nature than the creature that the mask came from, anyway.

Her face spoke volumes on the Batter.

 

 

It took weeks before the finished products were ready to be worn, and the first time the Batter donned it, he smiled behind her smooth visage. It was comfortable, deceptive, regal, home and hated; these were the fruits of purification, but with enough imperfection that it was like living this life a second time. She smelled of death and The End, of rebirth and entombment. He fingered the edge, staring the mirror, enjoying how the barest hint of his smirk was visible from the side, as if she was forever losing the battle against him.

It was perfect. Perfect for a King.

When Zacharie arrived a few weeks later to see how the masks were faring, he caught the Batter sitting on an ornate throne, slopes of gold fanning out that were made from dead Add-Ons, frozen and preserved like the mask of Hugo was that hung from one upper corner. Vader Eloha’s blank dead face stared back at him from where it was proudly perched on the Batter.

“I am happy to see you enjoy your wares,” the merchant chimed. “Might you make it a new hobby?”

The Batter only smiled behind the Queen, one Zacharie could clearly see from where he stood. That was all the answer he needed.


End file.
